Romero came into my life when I was thirteen and taught me how to fight. To stand up for myself. He helped me survive. But his promise to protect me and my mother washed down the drain the night she died. I was sixteen. He let me leave, and then he didn't call. Didn't even try to make sure I hadn't died in some seedy hotel. That was just how I wanted it. Until two years later, when my meager earnings at a failing shoe store couldn't...